Inheritance [Michael Jackson FanFiction]

Chapter 3

I tossed and turned all night, unable to shake off the weight of last night's conversation with Michael. His words echoed in my mind like a haunting melody, "Your Father pleaded to spare me from the hangman.... Then gave me this envelope"

The seriousness and honesty in Michael's voice lingered, leaving me torn. If he faced a public execution, what dark secrets could be tied to him? Did I even want to know? What was certain was my father's trust in him to help me uncover what was rightfully mine.

Dad's death hadn't fully sunk in. He was my rock, the only family I had. With no mother in the picture, I found myself relying on a stranger with a dubious reputation to lead me to whatever legacy Dad left behind.

I rose from the bed, drawn to the corner where a bucket of water waited. Splashing my face, I hoped to quell the relentless storm of thoughts racing through my troubled mind.

The morning light filtered through the curtains, casting a gentle glow. Choosing a soft lavender gown with delicate lace, I slid into layers of petticoats, the fabric rustling softly. Fastening buttons down the back, I secured the dress at the waist with a corset. Leather boots laced tightly, I completed the look.

My fingers deftly worked through the strands of my hair, pulling them into a neat bun at the nape of my neck. A few loose tendrils framed my face, softening the overall look. With a final glance at my reflection in the mirror, I left the room.

I could hear some commotion downstairs long before I got up so I assumed Michael had been up for a while now. The anticipation lingered in the air as I descended, the soft creak of the wooden staircase beneath my footsteps.

We spent hours last night talking about what my dad left for Michael.

-- Together in Strawberry, head straight to the centre of town. Look for the weathered sign with a picture of a bear hanging outside the local hotel. That's where you'll find what you're looking for. Be cautious --

Turns out, it's another letter guiding us to a town up north named Strawberry. This time, it was merely a hotel in the town centre, devoid of explicit instructions on whom or what to seek. The unknown loomed over us.

As I entered the kitchen, the warmth of freshly brewed coffee greeted me, evidence of Michael's presence earlier. Yet, the room was vacant, leaving only the lingering aroma and the silence.

I seized the chance to explore the living room, a space adorned with countless photo frames and, unsurprisingly, an assortment of moonshine bottles. Michael evidently has a taste for spirits.

Among the frames, I selected one displaying Michael in the midst of a lively group gathered around a crackling campfire. Were these his family or perhaps a close-knit circle of friends?

"What are you doing?" Michael's voice rang out unexpectedly from behind me.

Startled, I leapt up and pivoted to find him casually leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed, wearing an unimpressed expression.

"Just looking," I stammered, cheeks flushing with warmth as I stood there, taken aback by his sudden appearance.

"Well, don't," he warned, his eyes scanning my dress. "You might want to change into something less... fancy. We've got work to do, and a dress like that won't cut it, sweetheart."

I hesitated for a moment, caught off guard by Michael's stern tone and the way his gaze lingered on my attire. With a hint of defiance, I straightened my posture, determined not to let his disapproval shake me.

"Don't call me that... and what kind of work are we talking about?" I asked, attempting to determine with a calm expression what the purpose of the upcoming chores would be.